Forward Motion
by Mizu Iruka
Summary: Unseen 'verse. There's only so much Sam can learn at home. Blind and going to high school. Dean's going to get an ulcer.


**Forward Motion**

_Set early in the Unseen 'verse, about a year after Sam was blinded._

* * *

Dean watched Sam as his younger brother worried his lower lip bloody.

"You don't have to do this," he offered for the umpteenth time.

Sam scowled. "I want to do this."

"Okay," Dean said neutrally. "But if you're not sure, we could wait until next semester."

Sam tilted his chin up. "It's been a whole year. I can read Braille, I can get around. I can do this."

Pride welled up inside Dean, trumping the worry, and he squeezed Sam's neck. "I know you can. Want me to get you to your first class, though?"

Sam shook his head. Then he paused. "Well, you can. Just not to the door, alright?"

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with your drop-out big brother, Sammy," Dean said in an overly-hurt voice as he led Sam forward with a subtle hand at his elbow.

At the oblique reminder, Sam's face darkened even more. "You're getting your GED, Dean."

"I know," Dean said patiently. "And stop blaming yourself."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Dean, I'm going to be late." Sam punched him in the arm, hard, and Dean swore briefly.

"Fine. Sheesh, geek. Go on, learn all about your precious little arithmetic. See if I care."

Dean must've come off a little strong in his voice, because Sam hovered, probably uncertain if he had really offended Dean.

"Seriously, man. You're gonna do great, okay?"

Sam offered him a wobbly smile that didn't do much to raise Dean's confidence. "Yeah. Bye, Dean."

"Hey." Dean wrapped his arms around him. "You be safe. Anyone messes with you, they've got me to answer with, you hear me?"

"I'm fourteen, not five," Sam said drily, but he squeezed Dean tightly even as he said it.

Dean watched him walk off, cane tapping, and tried not to panic. It was just school. No danger here.

Yeah. No danger at all, Dean thought darkly, just kids who would eat Sammy alive.

* * *

Sam opened the door, ignoring the fact that his knees were knocking. Literally.

"Sam Winchester?"

Sam turned to the adult male's voice. "That's me."

"Class, this is Sam Winchester. He's joining us from, uh—" the teacher deliberately paused, probably to allow Sam to chime in, but Sam remained stubbornly silent. What was he supposed to say, oh, my father runs around the country, killing evil, no home state, really?

"I want you all to be as welcoming and helpful as possible."

Sam hated the stress laid on 'helpful.' If it were any other kid, that word would've been left out.

"Where would you like me to sit?" Sam asked clearly.

He felt and heard the teacher move towards him—he had learned to tell people's locations through shifts in air current and his own senses, and though he still had a lot to learn, he was getting better at it. The students were exchanging distracting whispers, and Sam resisted the urge to snarl or whack something with his cane.

"Um, if you'd like, I can help you over," the teacher fumbled, and Sam shook his head.

"Just tell me where," he ordered.

"On the right side, uh, two seats back?"

Sam nodded tersely, moving right until his cane hit the wall and then working his way forward, hitting one, two chair legs until he found his own.

"So, we'll just . . . um, continue, then."

Sam sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Dean was restless. He had been, all day, to the point that Dad had yelled at him twice and ordered him to run laps. He was useless on research, sporadic in training, and ultimately a basket case.

Who was a mother hen? Not him, no, not at all.

"Dean, you need to go get Sam."

Dean shot out of his seat, grabbing the keys and throwing some kind of farewell to his father, who looked exasperated. No matter. Dean raced his way down the streets, only slowing down once he reached the school's twenty mile per hour zone.

He nearly got into a fist fight with some random mother for stealing her parking spot, but Dean wasn't about to waste his time on her.

"Where's Sam?" he asked without introduction as soon as he reached the office.

"Class isn't out, yet," the receptionist blustered, but quailed under Dean's scowl. "Um, he's in room 106."

Dean flashed her a patronizing smile. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Dean had never really gone for subtle. And, he figured, he should show Sam's classmates that Sam had back-up.

He pushed open the door and strode into the classroom, smiling tightly at the teacher before turning to survey the room.

"Um, sir?"

He ignored the teacher and picked out Sam, who had no obvious wounds or lacerations. That was good.

"Hey, Sam. You done here?"

Sam cocked his head just barely, a habit he had developed whenever he heard Dean's voice. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Nope. Just figured that last period of the day, it's not like you learn anything in here anyway," Dean said casually. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the teacher puff up in an affronted manner.

Sam cringed and pushed to his feet too fast, stumbling slightly and accidentally dropping one of his books. "Uh, Dean, I don't think I can, can you just wait outside?"

The teacher looked at Sam with a sympathy and pity that had Dean wanting to punch something. "No, it's fine, Sam. You can go."

Dean strutted forward, deliberately looking around at the kids and pin-pointing the more brutish types and glaring at them as he did.

Sam reached for his cane and Dean got his books.

"C'mon, Sam, we've gotta work on your aim with the Glock tonight," he muttered, loud enough so that the nearest jerks heard him, but the teacher couldn't. Sam gaped slightly, but shoved Dean to get him moving.

"Thanks, ma'am," Dean smiled insolently at the teacher, who looked torn between disapproval and confusion.

"Um, goodbye, Ms. Peterson."

Dean slammed the door behind them and quickly pulled Sam with him, ignoring his brother's startled squawk.

"Did they hurt you? Are you alright? Tell me the truth, Sam. I swear, I'll go and beat up every single one of those—"

"Dean!" Sam shoved his hands away and scowled. "You're mixing up TV with real life again."

"Yeah? Sure, Sammy. Stop lying to me."

His brother scowled at him. "It was fine, Dean. Biggest problem was that it's really hard to remember everything the teacher says and type Braille at the same time."

Dean scowled in return and wished Sam could see it. "They did nothing at all?" he asked skeptically.

Sam waved an airy hand that nearly clipped Dean in the nose. "No. Just some harmless teasing."

"Teasing?" he growled.

"Dean, let it go," Sam sighed.

"Nuh uh, I need to go back in there and beat up every single one of those brats."

Sam looked actually really angry. "Don't mess this up for me, Dean. Leave it."

"Mess what up?" Dean laughed.

Sam turned away. "My future."

And Dean couldn't really laugh at that.

* * *

**A/N:** Still a brief segment only. Sorry, just haven't had time to put anything longer together. And of course was hit with ANOTHER idea for an SPN AU. Gorramit.


End file.
